


Season 1 Episode 3 - Potage

by PaleGlimmer



Series: Hannibal Smut Companion [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Classroom Sex, Crack, Episode Related, Frottage, Hannigram - Freeform, M/M, POV First Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Premature Ejaculation, Season 1, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-11 05:11:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18423543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaleGlimmer/pseuds/PaleGlimmer
Summary: Will Graham is lecturing at the FBI Academy on the Minnesota Shrike and his copycat. Hannibal pays a visit. Sexual shenanigans ensue.





	Season 1 Episode 3 - Potage

**Author's Note:**

> Part of my project Hannibal Smut Companion: a little piece of smut set in/around each episode. Every TV episode resets events/characters.
> 
> Am shite at tagging, please help. 
> 
> Kudos and comments are all so very welcome.

“Same age, same height, same weight as his daughter, Abigail. There was a ninth victim who fit Abigail Hobbs’ profile but Garret Jacob Hobbs didn’t murder her.”

Clicking ahead. New slide. Poor Cassie, but at least in death, filthily spread over that severed stag head, she was turned into a work of art. I love this slide, honestly. Look at that crime scene. It really punches you in the guts, right? It’s not just blind violence. It’s different, it’s more. It means something.

“The killer who did it wanted us to know he wasn’t the Minnesota Shrike. He was better than that. He is an intelligent psychopath. He is a sadist. He will never kill like this again. So how do we catch him?”

I hate it when people arrive late at the lecture. What the hell, it’s almost over. Why would you even bother… oh! It’s Crawford. Jackass. The man has no manners, was he raised in a barn? He touches my glasses, he’s late, he’s nosy: what the hell? And Hannibal. There’s Hannibal too, dammit. I can see his cheekbones from here, doesn’t matter that it’s so dark. I know they’re there. I feel them.

“This copycat is an avid reader of Freddie Lounds and TattleCrime.com. He had intimate knowledge of Garret Jacob Hobbs’ murders. Motives, patterns. Enough to recreate them and arguably elevate them. To art.”

Focus, I need to focus. Click ahead for the next slide. Look at this nice pic of a murderer and her daughter. They’re cute. Not ravishing, like Hannibal. Focus, I said.

“How intimately did he know Garret Jacob Hobbs? Did he appreciate him from afar, or did he engage him? Did he ingratiate himself into Hobbs’ life? Did Hobbs know his copycat as he knew him? Before Garret Jacob Hobbs murdered his wife and attempted to do the same to his daughter, he received an untraceable call.”

More pics, more pics. So much blood, you can’t believe how much blood we contain. We’re fucking blood bags with too thin skin ready to blow up, I’m just saying.

“I believe the as-yet unidentified caller was our copycat killer.”

There. Last slide. Lesson’s over, blah, blah, blah. Bye people, I’ve got no time for students after the lecture - I’m that professor, yes. Now I can go die in a ditch, and maybe then the headaches will stop. I need to feed the dogs, before that.

“Brilliant. Will, your deductions about the copycat are simply brilliant.”

That’s what Hannibal says to me, while the damned students slowly flow out of the classroom. Too slowly. Anyway, I need something bigger than my glasses to hide behind. At least Jack has fled. Small mercies and all that.

“We had all of the evidence. We just had to connect them.”

I say, while gathering what seems to be a metric ton of papers. How am I suppose to fit everything back in my small bag? Did my bag shrink? Did the papers breed while I wasn’t looking? Hannibal is not helping me: he’s just chilling, his ass against my desk - oh but what an ass - with his legs in front of him, elegantly crossed at the ankles. Great legs, by the way, that femur length is to die for. He’s staring intently at the slide in front of him. I look up too. Oh, the copycat killer slide, with Cassie on the stag head. Nice one, my fave too, what can I say.

“Not we. You. You alone, Will.”

He turn his brown, clever eyes to me. He looks so… proud? Okay, I know I’m blushing, I feel the wave of redness raising from my belly up to my ears, including my supposedly immortal but very tired soul. But it’s dark here in the classroom, hopefully he won’t notice.

I scoff. I keep trying to push the papers inside the bag, but the bag, or the papers, or maybe honestly my hands, well something is not really working the way it’s supposed too, and I get twitchy, and I knock over the big ass glass paperweight, and I try to catch it before it shatters. So of course, I almost fall on the ground face-first right in front of Hannibal. Except that I don’t fall. I mean, I do fall, but I don’t touch the ground. Because Hannibal catches me just in time.

I find myself in Hannibal’s arms. His face is a few inches from mine. His eyes in my eyes. Holy. Fucking. Shit. Now we’re going to find out if auto-combustion is a thing, except there will be no evidence left because my body will turn into a supernova, destroying life as we know it on this planet. My blood is lava. I babble “Thank you, you really shouldn’t have…”

You shouldn’t have saved my face at the cost of my dignity? Can you feel my heart beating like I’m running a ultramarathon in the Sahara desert in August? Can you, Hannibal?

“Don’t be silly, Will. That’s what friends are for…” And he smiles. He smiles like an arrogant devil from the deepest hellhole, so close to my own fucking face. With that mouth. With those lips.The gall. This distance is more a lack of distance, if you really think about it. I can smell him, I feel the warmth of his body underneath all that expensively stylishly cut fabric, and he’s sustaining all my weight in his arms as if I were a little doll, holding me unnecessarily tight. And what can I say, I’m just a man.

I kiss him.

I kiss Hannibal Lecter, my friendly psychiatrist and esteemed colleague, who’s holding me in his arms to save me from one of my frequently face-planting incidents. Maybe he wasn’t really looking forward being harassed by this horny FBI profiler. But alas. I kiss him nonetheless.

And.

Hannibal kisses me back.

I swear on everything sacred - on the heads of my seven dogs - he does. Like he’s not even surprised. Like he too was waiting for an excuse.

Like he means it.

I taste his lips, his mouth, his tongue. His lips are so plushy and soft, I can’t resist biting them. Just a nibble here and there, just a little. I bite, I lick, I devour him. Hannibal tastes and smells delicious to me, like some tropical fruit of paradise, mixed with leather, and shadows, and dew on grass in the early morning. I feel I’m melting around his skillful tongue, as he pushes it little by little deeper in my mouth, exploring me, savoring me slowly like one of his European blood-red wines.

It’s a long ass kiss. We both have lost any interest in breathing, apparently. If evolution has gills in store for me, now would be a good time.

I’m vertical again - how did it happen? Don’t know, don’t care - forcefully nestled between Hannibal thighs. Of course I feel my own painfully distracting boner shedding tears against the constriction of its fabric prison. I also feel Hannibal’s family-sized cock, hard as diamond, pushing against me. I can’t decide if this is the highlight of my life or my most shameful moment: I’m at the FBI Academy, in an open classroom, moaning and rubbing filthily against this man like a horndog in heat. Yes, it’s the highlight, I don’t need to ponder about it.

As noted before, I’m just a man. A man that has most of his blood pooled in a very specific area in the midsection of his body, and cannot really think straight. Straight, eh. I’m so funny, why am I not doing stand-up, again?

So I run my fingers through Hannibal’s hair, always so prim and proper, I grab it tight and I attack his mouth again as if it were a matter of life or death. I push him on the desk, I straddle him, let my weight nail him down. I have every intention to finish what we started, here, in this dark classroom, where everyone passing by could take a peak. I just don’t care about anything else than is not this glorious man beneath me. And the way all my skin is on fire and my cock is twitching at this sudden closeness between us.

Now I push my hand down to Hannibal’s crotch. I stroke his glorious cock, still shrouded under all the fabric. I’m indulging there, when suddenly Hannibal starts moving erratically beneath me, muttering things in a language I’ve never heard before. A muffled groan escapes him. Then stillness, and short breath, and shut eyes. Why, yes, somebody enthusiastically came in his pants, and contrary to expectations, it wasn’t me. I feel smug. Surprised, too. But mostly really, really smug.

I still myself, still basking in the smugness, and grant Hannibal time to come back to Planet Earth. I give him little kisses all along his cheekbones, then the jaw line. I pet his hair as if he were the most precious Angora rabbit. I am so relieved that I’ve cracked the case of how much Hannibal may like me. The solution of this case is: enough.

I slide off Hannibal, pull myself together. I help him get on his feet - he’s the one blushing now: I need to remember this time, Hannibal all flushed and disheveled and mildly embarrassed, avoiding my eyes. I bite my lips a lot, staring at this handsome human, knowing that I’ll look at this classroom in a different way from now on.

“Will, I’m so sorry. I was overcome by the emotional intensity of it all.” Hannibal clears his throat. “Tomorrow is the day of our usual meeting: will you please stay after that, and be my guest for dinner, too?”

He looks at me with hopeful eyes.

“Of course, Hannibal, it will be my pleasure.”

I have a hunch that it will be really the case, this time.

I watch him leave the room. He hesitates, stops, turns to me again.

“Take care of the dogs so that you may spend the night away from home, okay?”

I nod and smile.

I like it when people want to make it up to me… I like it indeed.


End file.
